The Monolith

by Stephen Roark

  “I want to help her,” I replied. “But…saving the world? We don’t even know what’s going on or what we’re up against…do we?”

  “We believe it is the game’s developer, Mizaguchi,” Altarus explained.

  “But why?”

  “Whatever is going on is being done at the server level,” Mickey added. “Some sort of code maybe that’s preventing players from logging out.”

  “So, you don’t think it’s a glitch?”

  Mickey shook his head. “That’s what the company’s saying. But there’s no way. They’d have a thousand fail safes built in for something like this. They’re just as clueless as we are.”

  Mizaguchi? I thought. But why?

  Blood Seekers was his magnum opus, a project he’d put his entire experience as a game designer into. Why would he want to turn it into something terrible? What could he possibly have to gain by doing so?

  “He hasn’t made a statement?” I asked.

  “No,” Altarus replied grimly. “In fact, no one has heard from him since this all began.”

  “Probably in some secret data center somewhere,” Fujiko spat.

  “What do you guys think about the monolith?” I asked. They were like me, and I’d expected to see recognition in their eyes, but all I saw was the same look Jacob had given me when I’d mentioned it to him.

  “Monolith?” Mickey asked sheepishly.

  “You all didn’t see the monolith?” I asked. Heads shook slowly and my heart sank. If they were like me, why hadn’t they seen it too? I guess it didn’t really matter—not at the moment. Everything was a question, and we were searching for answers.

  “Okay, so what do we do?” I asked, bucking myself up the best I could.

  “We go back in,” Fujiko said. “Level up and get to the bottom of this.”

  “My Fount is toast,” I told them. “My character—”

  “Stored server side, dude.” Mickey grinned. “Those days of direct device backup are long gone. You’re good to go!”

  I shook my head in disbelief.

  “We’re all in this together, Rand,” Altarus said. “If we’re going to get to the bottom of this, free those who are trapped there, we need to work together. Will you help us?”

  The question was all but rhetorical. I’d come this far already; I wasn’t about to pull out now. So, I took a step forward to the Fount Mickey had prepared for me and took a seat on the gurney beside it. Taking the Crown and sliding it onto my head, I looked up at my new friends.

  “I’m at the Weeping Hills lamppost,” I told them. Altarus’ eyes lit up and they all made their way to their own Fount. “Just died in the Cragstone Plains.”

  “Did you lose much Quintessence?” Fujiko asked.

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “Killed a Stone Demon—”

  “Waste of time going back then,” she scoffed. “We’re based in Ebonmire, a long trek west of the Hills. Wait for us in town. We’ll meet up there.”

  “Okay,” I replied, lying back on my bed. “I’ll work off my death penalty—hopefully it’ll be gone by the time you get there.” I noticed Mickey had taken a seat in a large rolling chair with a high back. “You’re not coming?”

  He flicked his fingers quickly across a matte-black mechanical keyboard and shook his head. “I’m not a fighter. I’m the brains behind the brawn.”

  “All right, Brainiac,” Fujiko scoffed. “Quit yappin’. We’ve got work to do.”

  “See you on the other side,” Altarus said as he thumbed the button on his Fount. My head was spinning, but I was on the crest of the wave and there was nothing to do but keep riding it as long as I could. I reached over and pressed the button and closed my eyes.

  25

  Old Bones Weigh Heavy

  “I’m going to miss you, Clay. I know I didn’t seem that upset when we said goodbye, but that’s because I knew I would cry my eyes out if I said too much. I’ll make sure we keep in touch though, and I’m sure you’ll do just fine at South Farron. Show those rich kids who’s boss!”

  —from a 2128 e-mail from Rey to Clay

  The lamppost’s light welcomed me back in a way that shouldn’t have been possible in such a harsh world. I looked around for Jacob, but the town was empty save for a single Seeker leaning sullenly against the sloping wall of one of the huts.

  “Hey,” I called out, walking over to him. His head rose slowly like a helium balloon on its last legs. “Where is everyone?”

  He shrugged. “Hunting.”

  “You seen Jacob?”

  “I don’t know who that is,” he replied. He was still wearing starter gear and had no weapon equipped.

  “Okay…” I said. The Weeping Hills had never been so deserted. The moon still hung heavy in the sky, and I heard Wilhelm’s hammer clang ring out from his hut, but the player chatter was gone. “Well, if you see a guy named Jacob, tell him Rand went to see Rathborne for me?”

  “Sure,” he muttered back, lowering his head and kicking a stone at his feet. Part of me wanted to stick around and chat, see if I could cheer him up at all, but I had work to do and wasn’t in the best of moods myself. So I struck off, heading out to the woods in the direction of Rathborne’s. My 5% death penalty from my death at the hands of the Stone Demon’s trap hung in the corner of my vision like a mosquito I couldn’t swat away.

  Rand—Level 4

  Vitality: 13 (-1) HP = 327 (-25) 302

  Toughness: 5 (-1)

  Strength: 16 (-1)

  Skill: 5 (-1)

  Viletaint: 10 (-1)

  Intellect: 5 (-1)

  I wasn’t the best at math, but I knew enough to know that 5% of 5 wasn’t 1. Apparently the game had to apply its death penalty in whole increments and liked to round up—way up.

  I realized I hadn’t taken time to check out whatever it was I’d managed to loot off the Stone Demon and quickly opened my inventory. It was a slab of stone with a few orange lines scratched into it, unlike anything I’d ever seen. I inspected it.

  Rune of Beast Protection—A rune typically used by young seekers beginning their journeys. Offers mild protection against the scourge of many beasts.

  +7% protection against Frenzy

  “Seven%, huh?” I scoffed, equipping the rune. It made a sound that was much more satisfied than I was feeling.

  At least it’s not raining anymore, I thought as I pressed on toward the tree line. I passed Alastor and his bizarre bath on the way and heard him call out to me.

  “Sonny! Sonny! Care to do some business?”

  I waved over my shoulder as I shook my head. “Not now, Alastor. I’m broke.”

  His laugh was dry and full of phlegm at the same time and I heard the waters of wine where he lay splash against the edges of his bath. “Happens to us all, sonny! You come back and see Alastor when you have more tasty Quintessence!”

  “Will do,” I replied, twisting my axe in my hand as I entered the woods. The shadows were like old friends as I strode quickly, my eyes searching for the flickering flames that would signal the arrival of a Corrupted Villager.

  I was ready for the first one, and cut him down quickly with a perfectly timed riposte and a massive follow up as I Shadowstepped behind him. My Rally bar was more than half way stacked, so I raced on to a group of three and by the time I was finished with them, my death penalty was down to 2%.

  A Midwife was somewhere to my left—I could hear the rocking of her chair—but I avoided her. I didn’t feel like getting into any complicated combat. I just needed to reach Rathborne. It felt like I’d been out to sea in a tiny rowboat before, and just as I’d started to get a hang of the oars, a hurricane had come and smashed my little raft to bits and now I was clinging desperately to a pile of kindling that was barely keeping me from sinking beneath the waves.

  Rathborne will have the answers, I thought as I decimated another Corrupted Villager, watching as his face twisted in agony as my axe carved a fissure where his neck met his shoulder, sending blood cascading int
o the air. I stepped through him, collecting another swirl of Quintessence. 1% left.

  It was strange to think that I was going to an NPC for guidance, and not the pre-programmed type that you’d get from a quest giver or class trainer. But Rathborne wasn’t an NPC—not in the traditional sense. He was a man, a real man who’d had a son and lost him. He was a Seeker who’d seen something in me. He’d know what to do.

  I tried not to think about Rey and what had happened to her, but it was like trying to build a levee in the midst of a flood. Images of her face, tortured and vacant, came crashing into my mind one after the other, and I couldn’t help but think that because I hadn’t actually seen her since she’d become one of the Bloodless, I was feeling even worse. At least if I’d laid eyes on her when she was…lost, I would have had a specific image to force out of my mind. But now, all I had were my imagination, and they weren’t about to give me a break. My hands clenched tightly on my weapons as Rathborne’s clearing came into view, the crumbling hut looking like an old friend. Grapefruit-sized puffs of smoke spat lazily from the chimney.

  I crossed quickly to the door and rapped against the wood with the blunt end of my Blunderbuss’ grip. Rathborne’s voice called out from within.

  “Come on, Rand.”

  How did he know? I thought as I pushed open the door. Its hinges whined as I stepped inside to find Rathborne seated by the hearth, which crackled gently. Embers sparked as he dropped a fresh dry log into the flames.

  “Have a seat, son,” he said with a smile.

  “How did you know it was me?” I asked as I took the chair in front of him. Rathborne simply smiled as he stoked the fire with a long piece of iron.

  “Call it old man’s intuition.”

  “Okay,” I replied, setting my axe down and laying my Blunderbuss across my lap. I thought I saw a faint gleam of approval in his eyes as they moved across the cloak he’d given me, so I told him, “I’m doing it justice.”

  “No doubt you are.” He nodded. He smiled again, but it wasn’t strong. Something was on his mind. I hesitated a moment before speaking again.

  “You’re thinking about your son.”

  Rathborne stirred uncomfortably in his seat and readjusted his stovepipe hat atop his head. This man had no doubt been a great Seeker, and it pained me to see him in this state. I felt as though I was looking at a great lion, once the ruler of a mighty kingdom, now haggard and old, past his prime, his body heavy and weighted down by the ghosts of the past.

  “It is hard to keep one’s mind occupied out here,” Rathborne replied sadly. It still seemed a miracle to me that this was an AI I was speaking to, and part of me thought it cruel that Mizaguchi had created this man, given him conscience and faculty, then burdened him with such a tortured past. For all intents and purposes, Mizaguchi was the god of this realm, and what kind of god would want that for his children?

  The old Seeker’s head lifted energetically as though fighting against the heavy weight that lay upon him. “What is that death penalty you’re carrying there?”

  “Stone Demon,” I grumbled. “Well—not the Stone Demon itself, actually. We killed him rescuing Grecia, and then got killed by a spike trap after.”

  Rathborne chuckled and nodded. “Grecia. What’d you think of the old witch?”

  “Not what I expected,” I replied, thinking back to the strange hag splayed out beneath the crimson cloak that clung to her like a layer of old skin. Rathborne chuckled, stoking the fire as the fresh log began to catch. “Rathborne, I—I don’t know what I need to do, but I need to level. I need to be powerful, and I was hoping you could help me.”

  “Well, if you’re looking for a companion, son, I’m afraid I can’t help you,” he said as he set the poker aside. “But, seeing as how you’re sporting that thing,” he nodded to my cape cloak, “southwest of here, at the Swamp of Sacrifices, that cloak will come in quite handy.”

  “Swamp of Sacrifices, eh?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Sounds gruesome.”

  “It is.” Rathborne grinned. “You’ll see when you get there.”

  Unexpectedly, the old man got to his feet as though signaling the end of our conversation. I stood up and followed as he moved to the door and stepped out into the night. I could almost feel the gravitational pull of his son’s grave out back as he stared up at the stars beyond the cold fingers of the trees as they seemed to struggle forward in an attempt to invade the clearing around his hut.

  I wanted to say something to him—something that would let me know that I felt for him and that I understood—but I wasn’t sure I did. Sure, I’d lost Rey, but she was out there somewhere and I was doing my best to get her back. Rathborne’s son was gone, his bones beneath the earth where they would remain forever. What did I know about that kind of loss? I felt suddenly uncomfortable, as though my presence was an interruption, an invasion of his time alone with his thoughts.

  “Well, this death penalty isn’t going to go away on its own,” I said as cheerfully as possible. “Thanks for the advice, Rathborne. I’ll get out of your hair.”

  “Yes, of course, son,” Rathborne replied quickly, as though I’d startled him. “You are always welcome here. Be safe, keep your axe sharp and you will find your way.”

  He put a strong hand on my shoulder and squeezed before turning back to his hut. I watched him go and frowned as the old door shut behind him. What was once clearly a great man, reduced to an old hermit camped beside the bones of his boy—it just didn’t seem right.

  26

  The Swamp of Sacrifices

  “Unfortunately, we have been unable to move the majority of the bodies from along the coast. The fallout has made it impossible until nuclear cleanup teams have fully scoured the area. How long? Months or years, I’m afraid. I don’t like it any more than you do, but that’s simply the reality of the situation.”

  —from a 2112 interview with George Morten, Director of New York Disaster Relief

  I realized after Rathborne had gone inside that I didn’t really know how to head southwest, but I discovered a tiny compass at the bottom right hand corner of my character sheet, and set off through the woods toward the new hunting ground. Another camp of Corrupted Villagers tried to jump me with rusted pickaxes and shovels, but I dispatched them with ease, trying to reignite the fire within me that had been slightly quelled by the sadness I’d seen in Rathborne’s eyes as he sat despondent in his chair.

  On the bright side, my death penalty was gone, and I had enough Quintessence to raise my Strength and Vitality another point.

  Rand—Level 4

  Vitality: 14 HP = 352

  Toughness: 5

  Strength: 17

  Skill: 5

  Viletaint: 10

  Intellect: 5

  It was actually pretty hilarious that after 4 levels, almost 5, I was just getting back to the starting health of the other origins chosen by other players. Only for the hardest of the hardcore, I thought with a smile as I glanced at the sliver of Quintessence needed to get me to level 5. It seemed so low still, and I still had no answers to the thousands of questions, but I was going to do what Rathborne had told me: keep my axe sharp and find my way.

  Another Corrupted Villager cried out as he died to my blade and as I stepped over his fallen body, a stench like salt water filled my nostrils. I blew out and grimaced, spitting on the ground as the horrible odor turned into a taste that seemed to coat my tongue. The trees began to change, from the skeletal corpses I’d grown accustomed to, into thick pillars of putrid green and yellow with whip-like branches draped with clumps of moss that hung like some kind of spotted intestinal tissue or stomach lining.

  Clusters of chocolate colored mushrooms resembling those big red onions I hated began to spring up here and there, and when I got close, sprayed a thick mist into the air that I could only believe was toxic, so I avoided them like the plague.

  The ground became wet and waterlogged, each step squishing beneath my boot as I walked. Puddles of putrid green sp
rang up, their surfaces covered with thick algae that sat calmly on the still water. Things were still—almost too still, but I pressed on.

  Something in the far distance moved, but was obscured by a thick hanging of vines that reached all the way down to the rancid mire that threatened to swallow up the very trees that stood like tall pillars holding up the sky. Whatever it was, it seemed to have a circular shell and definitely wasn’t anything remotely human, but before I could inspect it, it vanished behind a thick trunk.

  “Hmmm…” I muttered to myself as my boot pierced the muck beneath me. A web of moss hanging in front of me split easily across the cutting edge of my axe and parted around me as I stepped through to the other side. I was starting to wonder if Rathborne had lost his mind, directing me to a seemingly empty swamp, but that was when it happened.

  The very ground before me swelled like a pregnant belly, as though an enormous beast was rising out from the depths of the earth. But that didn’t happen—instead, countless hands emerged, pruned and swollen, waterlogged with flesh peeled back in places, exposing the gleaming white of bone.

  A skull appeared here and there—human, hairless, rotten and tortured, vile and wasted away with lips and mouths twisted into impossible shapes as they cried out as though in unimaginable pain. I felt a set of fingers clutch my ankle, and looked down to see a hand, missing its pinky finger, gripping me with furious anger. The flesh was all but gone and as I kicked hard in an attempt to get free, the entire hand itself came off the bones of the forearm of the decaying man as he clawed his way from the muck.

  It was madness as more of them emerged from the swamp ground like countless insects being birthed from some terrible hive. The hand still clutched my ankle angrily, and on top of sending pain flaming through my lower leg, was actually dealing damage!